Red7, RecruitOffseason: an FLCL Fanfiction
by Serallena
Summary: "Hey, Commander, this kid said she heard her cat talking."  "Did she, now?"   "That's a pretty crazy story, kid."   "Shounds crathy to me," adds the pink-haired woman leaning on the Vespa, picking her teeth.  Maki says, "I am not crazy."
1. The Cat is Talking

Maki Arikida has a talking cat. Or rather, Maki Arikida's cat is talking. It definitely was not a _talking cat _when Mayuri Arikida found it under her porch six years ago and elected to take it in, never mind that she was already working two jobs to keep herself and her kid sister under a roof. Marital complications between the two parental Arikidas had complicated (of course) familial arrangements in years prior to cat-adoption, leaving, eventually, the twenty-year-old Mayuri Arikida with custody of her five-year-old sister. Seven years later, she was still holding their little situation together, cat and all, and that is a great testament to her kindness and maturity.

However, Mayuri Arikida has nothing to do with her cat's talking, as she is unable even to hear it at all. Maki discovered this about an hour ago, when her sister came in her bedroom with laundry and paid no heed to the cat, sans an affectionate scratch behind the ears. She certainly didn't mention the garbled sounds that could only be described as radio reception that were, at least to Maki's ears, clearly pouring out of the black feline lump on the bed.

So the cat wasn't talking, not really, but Maki didn't know what else to make of the disjointed conversation, between, apparently, _several_ parties, all basically incomprehensible or unintelligible except a few oft-repeated phrases – "N.O." and "Red7" and "Medical Mechanica." Oh yes. These people, whoever they were, had some serious concerns about Medical Mechanica, and were very keen, for whatever reason, on keeping the multinational hospital-equipment developer franchise out of whatever the hell they were doing with 'Red7.' Eventually, after about an hour of listening, Maki was able to piece together a location, quietly exit the house, and take a bus to that location – which, as it happened, was on the outskirts of town.

And so Maki Arikida finds herself, an incongruous blob of ill-fitting clothes and badly-cut hair, in the middle of what she suspects to be a highly _un_official meteor excavation site, feeling extremely out of place, extremely _young_, and extremely, extremely uncomfortable. But Maki is resolute. Her cat is talking. This is no time to be concerned with social adeptness. (It does occur to her, however, that her _safety_ may be a concern when snooping around a possibly illegal organization's camp, but she puts that thought out of her mind.)

Nobody jumps her or even acknowledges her presence for ten minutes, so Maki approaches the nearest group of people – one man, with red hair and sunglasses, and two women – one, with dark skin and blonde hair; the other, with pink hair and, for some reason, a retro Vespa motorbike.

The blonde is closest, and looks friendliest.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Maki says. Woman looks startled. "Um, yes?"

Something about the strangeness of these place, and these people, wipes away any inhibitions Maki had initially harbored.

"My cat. I heard it talking."

The woman stares. She turns to the red-haired guy.

"Hey, Commander, this kid said she heard her cat talking."

"Did she, now?" He glances down at Maki, with these ridiculous fake eyebrows-was that _seaweed? – _raised skeptically. "That's a pretty crazy story, kid."

"Shounds crathy to me," adds the pink-haired woman leaning on the Vespa, picking her teeth.

Maki is not swayed in the slightest by this display. She has heard their voices (Eyebrow Guy's and Blondie's) before, over the cat-communicator or…or whatever it is they're doing with her cat.

"I am not crazy."

"Hm." Eyebrow Guy is unreadable. If he's feigning his disinterest, he's doing it very well.

"So what, exactly, do you want us to do about it?"

"Well, for one thing, you can tell me what Red7 is and why you want to keep it a secret from Medical Mechanica."

That gets them. All three stare. Maki stares back. They hadn't been mistaken about the threat implicit in her tone – it's burning with certainty in her eyes. She doesn't know anything, not really, but she does have an unshakeable notion that this seemingly-random phrase she heard from her cat is very, very, important to these people and at least one other group of people; and if the ones in front of her won't tell her what she wants to know, she will go to whoever will. It's only a little thing she heard that's any real information – one word, one phrase, and Maki has no qualms about turning it over to Medical Mechanica if that's what it takes to get answers. These people, who possessed her cat or whatever they did- she owes them no secrets kept, no nothing.

It's not very much of secret, what Maki knows. Just a very little thing.

But it's enough.

Eyebrow Guy sighs. Pushes up his sunglasses. He's not looking at Maki, or anyone. It's as though the discussion is over, but not the discussion Maki thought she was having, and he's wrapping up; he's entertained her inquiry long enough and will allot her no more of his attention. She panics, briefly. But to her surprise he says to no one in particular (as far as Maki can tell, anyway, since he's still not looking at any of them), "Alright."

It's a surrender, that is certain, but what follows is not the explanation Maki demanded and expects. She will have to learn to stop expecting. Eyebrow Guy says, "Kitsurubami. Contact HQ and get the RO-U21 paperwork. And for god's sake will someone get the engineers to adjust the communication channel? If an undesignated cat three miles away is picking up signals, we won't need this girl to spill for Medical Mechanica to be all over us by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Sir." She sounds weary, like somebody is soon going to be on the receiving end of a lot of bureaucratic bullshit and rage from upper-management, and that somebody is going to be her.

Eyebrow Guy heads toward a tent. Maki follows. She wasn't invited by words or even body language – not a glance thrown her way – but she is already starting to figure out that these people, whoever they are, are not going to hold her hand and walk her through this or even be straightforward at all; it will be up to her find the answers she's looking for.

Evidently, she made the right choice – Eyebrow Guy does not reprimand her for following - although, when they get inside the tent, her presence elicits some stares. Eyebrow Guy ignores them, and walks, Maki in tow, to one of the makeshift office stations in the back. This one, Maki observes, is made of filing cabinets.

"Yo, Takakura," Eyebrow Guy says, and a disheveled-looking thirtysomething with glasses pops out from behind one of the cabinets. He looks at Maki, but in a different way than the others, with more purpose.

"This the RO?" he says more than asks, and starts rifling through one of the bottom drawers. Suddenly, her presence is expected. Maki wonders how news could possibly travel so fast – not minutes ago did she arrive at this encampment, and not seconds ago was she an anomaly. Little things just weren't adding up right, and their unholy sum makes Maki's head spin. She is spiraling down the rabbit hole at an exponential rate and suspects that she's gone past the point of no return.

"Here." Glasses Guy shoves something in Maki's direction, still rifling through the drawer. It's a little plastic disc, shrink-wrapped, about the size of a bottle cap - flat on one side and rounded on the other, like button without holes.

"And this." He comes out of the drawer, finally, and hands her something else. This one, at least, Maki can identify – it's a standard, tortoise-shell guitar pick – but its purpose is still completely unknown.

"You're gonna take that" –he indicates the pick- "over to base, and find the guitar with a matching serial number. The white thing, you're going to stick to your forehead. But do it outside."

"What is it?" Maki asks, voice carefully measured. She's trying to maintain some degree of control over her delirium-lapin descent, but there's no stopping it now.

"It's for your N. O. channel. It's to-shit, we gotta find someone to tell you how to use this stuff; I don't have the time."

Someone a few desks away calls out, "Give her to Raharu, it's not like she's doing anything else!" Everyone laughs, and Maki has no idea why. At least a few of these new questions are answered immediately.

"_What?_" The pink-haired woman bursts through the tent flaps. Nobody is surprised; her shadow was plainly visible from inside the tent the whole time – a silhouetted caricature of someone leaning in to listen, ear-first. This woman – Raharu, Maki supposes - is not a very subtle eavesdropper.

Eyebrows Guy does not even acknowledge the interruption. "That's an excellent idea, Takakura." He turns to the indignant woman, still frozen in the position of her over-the-top entrance. "Haruha Raharu, I'm assigning you the care of our new RO. It will be your job to educate her in proper N.O. protocol, supervise her Recruitment procedures, etcetera etcetera…" His speech trails off, and Haruha's whining takes its place.

"C'mooon, Amarao, don't saddle me with this twerp!" She follows him when he walks past her out of the tent. Maki follows Haruha in turn.

"Now, now, Haruha, this arrangement makes perfect sense. You can't access N.O. yourself, and the RO doesn't know how to use hers. Show her what's she supposed to do, and between the two of you we might have a halfway functional agent. And you aren't doing any other jobs since you're here for probation-"

"-You're giving me to someone on probation?"

"-you might as well do this." Eyebrow Guy finishes, oblivious to Maki's interjection. He's unflappable. He and his seaweed eyebrows. There's the slightest hint of smugness when he says _probation_, and Maki has a very random passing thought that he wouldn't be so in-control (in the situation or in his demeanor) if not for Haruha's apparent restricted status.

Maki feels that her query - this time, at least - is definitely worth reiteration. "You're leaving someone _you're_ supposed to be in charge of, in charge of _me_?"

Amarao and Haruha stop dead and stare, as if they've just remembered Maki is there. Haruha's face contorts with a wicked grin. "That's right, yah little brat," she cackles, and then her grin fades just as fast as it appeared. "So don't get in my way, kid." Haruha grumbles something and storms off towards her bike in what Maki can only describe as a temper-tantrum. Though she has to be at least twenty-five, Maki notes, with mounting apprehension, Haruha Raharu behaves like a child.

Maki jogs after her. "My name is Maki, not _kid_." Haruha ignores her. Maki tries once more.

"Can you at least tell me the name of this group I'm apparently joining?"

Haruha doesn't turn around, but she answers.

"Galactic Space Police Brotherhood. Welcome to the fukkin' club."

"_Space Police_? As in, _aliens_? _Are you an alien?_"

They reach the Vespa. Haruha finally turns, and stares for a beat. "You know, kid, you're kind of a whiner-" –she examines her gloved fingernails- "like Takkun."

"_Who's Takkun_?"

"Look, kid, if you expect me to teach you anything at all, you gotta show the proper respect. Address me as Haruha-sempai, for starters. Haruha-sempai-sama-sensei."

"Yanno, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, since it's already implied that we're speaking Japanese. What kind of tool just leaves one phrase untranslated like they think it sounds cool?"

Haruha is an exaggerated picture of nonchalance, if such a thing is even possible. She yawns. "Yeeep, definitely a whiner."

"I am not a whiner."

"You also said you weren't crazy, but here you are ready to throw away your entire life to follow a bunch of very untrustworthy people who won't tell you jack shit, not even why you heard your cat talking."

Maki doesn't respond, just glares. Haruha leans in, rudely invading Maki's personal space. "I'll tell you something else, too. You may not be crazy now but that's no guarantee you won't be later. The N.O., it does things to your head, things that can only happen when you go around poking great big holes in it." Haruha leans back, snaps her goggles over her eyes, and turns toward the sun.

"Y'start to feel powerful, more powerful than the people that make you who you are. Untouchable. But even for people with N.O., godhood is still just a delusion and there's always plenty of people standing by to bring you back down. And it's a crash landing, kid. Now get on the bike."

Haruha turns away from the sky and starts up the Vespa's motor.

"Haruha?" Maki ventures quietly, climbing on as the engine rumbles,

"what the hell are you talking about?"

"Let's hope you never find out, kid."

And with that, they are off.

Haruha Raharu is a terrible driver. Maki holds the older girl's waist in a death grip, but Haruha doesn't seem to notice. She is too busy concentrating, Maki supposes, on unnecessarily-sudden hairpin turns and abrupt stops and -jesus was that a red light they just shot through? The sound of enraged honking rapidly fading away behind them is answer enough. Haruha turns back (watch the road watch the road watch the road) and shouts something, but Maki can't hear her over the wind.

"WHAT?" she yells back, sure her own words are equally inaudible. But Haruha seems to hear.

"I _SAID,_" Haruha shouts louder, competing with the roar of the turbulence. She then makes the most sudden stop of all, nearly flinging the two of them, bike and all, over the Vespa's front wheel. "WE'RE HERE!"

Maki rubs her ear. Evidently, not even Haruha's own vocal moderation can keep up with her driving – assuming she has any vocal moderation in the first place.

Maki looks around. They've travelled all the way through back to town outskirts, this time in the east. In front of them is an abandoned gas station; below them is a cracked and faded parking lot. "Where is here?"

"Weren't you listening, stupid? This is base. We're here to get you an axe. I'll wait outside."

Maki decides questioning again would be useless and only serve to piss off the temperamental woman further. As Maki starts climbing off the Vespa, Haruha stretches out and adds, "Look out, it might get kinda _weird _in there."

"I heard my cat talking. What could be weirder than that?" It's a challenge, one Maki hopes will draw information, in the form of bragging, from her childish mentor.

The ploy fails. "Yeah I guess you're right, what could be weirder than that." Maki is unsure if Haruha is being sarcastic. She senses that this will be a common uncertainty, over the next few days or weeks or hours or however long they're going to be together. There's no way to tell. Nothing about the Galactic Space Police Brotherhood has any rhyme or reason that Maki can follow, least of all Haruha Raharu.

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

RO-U21 stands for 'Recruitment, Offseason; Under-21 years old'. In other words, Maki is a minor, and more importantly, the GSPB is not looking for new members at the moment. This is why dealing with the red tape from management is going to be so particularly annoying.

The N.O. buttons are featured prominently in Diebuster/Gunbuster 2/Aim For the Top! 2, which is another of Studio Gainax's works.

(And yes, Haruha's inability to access N.O. is related to her probation. More on that in future chapters.)


	2. Axes and Answers

The gas station convenience store is, inexplicably, much bigger inside than out. In appearance, it's a construction site. Open beams, tarps, and bare concrete form the expansive space, but its population is hardly blue-collar. There are adults of all ages, walking purposefully in every direction, dressed in everything from ties to t-shirts to military uniforms of unknown origin. All around her, intermixed with the hiss of vehicular equipment, Maki hears ringing phones and businesslike murmurs about 'Medical Mechanica' and 'Red7.' It's like her cat all over again. The whole place has an impermanent quality to it, as if it has only just been thrown up and is going to be taken down again soon. But the scale of the establishment is too ridiculous to be temporary in any reasonable world. Not, of course, that Maki is in one.

Maki notes a service elevator on one wall. There's a directory printout next to it, attached with duct tape. She examines more closely and notes with a degree of vague distress – from some instinctive sense that if she allows herself to think about anything that's happened to her so far with any depth, she will be completely overwhelmed – that some of the languages on the directory are clearly not from Earth. But, Japanese is inscribed throughout the page as well, so Maki can clearly read:

Floor 9: AX-Dept;

It's the only thing that even remotely resembles Haruha's offhand mention of an 'axe,' so Maki takes a leap of faith (why not, she thinks. She's been doing it all day.), steps in the elevator, and presses '9.'

The ground drops out beneath her feet. Maki screams involuntarily, caught off-guard by the elevator's rapid descent. It doesn't seem to have any sort of speed modulation - gravity and nothing else serving as the mechanism of movement. Just as suddenly as it had started falling, the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing Maki against the wall. In front of her is solid ground, and she leaps out for dear life – a second before the elevator drops out of sight again. Maki takes a few seconds to recover her breath, and notices a metallic tang in the air.

Standing on the damp concrete, Maki gazes around a room even larger than the one she'd first entered. Shelves made of steel beams and plywood reach up to high ceilings, lit by bare fluorescents and reverberating with the echoes of Maki's crash landing. A warehouse. Specifically, a warehouse of guitars. All around are electric guitars of every shape and size. Maki has never seen so many of the same thing in one place. Base's collection far exceeds that of any actual guitar store, the rows of instruments stretching off beyond Maki's field of vision.

With no further instruction to go on, Maki furtively ventures in a random direction, searching for some sign of what to do. Purely through luck, she chances upon a man in an apron, sporting half a buzz-cut and looking bored – obvious marks of a low-level employee. His boredom is not surprising, as he and Maki appear to be the only two people in the place. She wonders why it's necessary for base to have an entire warehouse-sized floor dedicated to guitars. No matter their function (Maki assumes they have one. Although, she reconsiders, nothing in the Galactic Space Police Brotherhood could be taken for granted), the guitars clearly aren't in high demand. What use could they be, in a warehouse nine stories beneath the ground?

Maki's pondering is interrupted when the smell of chemical polish compels her to cough. The guy turns, but his surprise evaporates almost instantly back to boredom when he realizes her identity.

"R.O. Right. Let's see your pick."

"My wha?" In a flash of comprehension, Maki recalls the tortoise-shell guitar pick she'd gotten at the encampment. After a brief and embarrassing hunt through the pockets of her sweatpants, she finally unearths the plastic sliver and hands it to the man. He holds it up to the light and squints at the serial number.

"Wait here."

The man walks off, leaving Maki alone in the labyrinth of guitars and flickering light. Just when he's been gone long enough that she starts to get nervous, he emerges from the dark halls holding…a guitar. It's pretty simple, compared to the ones Maki sees on the shelves around her. It's the eight-shape of a standard acoustic guitar, made of yellowish lacquered wood with a dark decorative splotch on the front, and a dark handle. The man holds it out at her expectantly. With a vague sense of new responsibility, Maki takes it. And then she realizes:

"I…don't know what to do with this."

He looks neither sympathetic nor annoyed, his expression maintaining its utter indifference.

"It's a guitar."

"I know that." Does she really? It could be a giant squid or a blender, for all Maki knows. Reality has long since wavered for her; everything becoming equally plausible.

"Well, you hit things with it." Like he's stating the obvious.

"Of course." Of course.

Maki senses that Employee has reached his maximum level of helpfulness. She thanks him awkwardly, and wanders off down the hall she thinks she came through, hoping fervently that the exit will materialize. After about ten minutes (in Maki's mind, several hours), she finally stumbles upon the death-trap of an elevator she'd come in through. Maki hopes that going up will be a better ride than going down.

It's worse.

* * *

><p>Dazed, disoriented, and clutching an electric guitar, Maki finally emerges from the gas station. Haruha, obviously unworried about her protégée's extended absence, is asleep on her Vespa and snoring loudly. Maki approaches, and nudges her with the guitar's handle.<p>

Haruha jolts awake, jumping up on the seat of her bike into some kind of spastic imitation of a karate stance. When she notices Maki staring up at her, Haruha immediately assumes an extremely blasé pose in her seat.

"Are you really trying to look cool after that?"

Haruha acts as though Maki hasn't spoken.

"So let's see the thing."

Maki remembers the guitar, and holds it up obligingly. Maybe, if she's lucky, Haruha will actually tell her what it's for. But the older girl doesn't even look.

"Pret-ty laaame, kid."

"Oh yeah, well let's see yours." Maki's tone never rises to anger – she contains her emotions carefully, as usual. But she still feels compelled to defend her guitar, even if she doesn't have any idea what, exactly, she is arguing about. Haruha is starting to have that effect on her.

Haruha blinks, then looks away, pouting. She mumbles,

"Don't have one."

Maki asks,

"Why not?"

Haruha does not answer. She flops down across the handlebars of her bike, glaring at nothing. Her stomach growls.

"Bluhh. Got any cash on ya, kid?"

Maki grins, suddenly knowing how she's going to get a few answers from Haruha Raharu.

* * *

><p>"C'monnnn, hand it over!" Haruha reaches for the cup of ramen, the most expensive kind the convenience store (a real one, not the gas-station-base) had. But Maki hunches over it protectively.<p>

"Not till you answer my questions."

"But it'll get cold, you little brat!"

"That would be a shame," Maki says, consulting her watch. She adds,

"We have about four minutes before this stuff gets lukewarm and gross." Haruha makes another lunge for the ramen cup, but Maki dodges, and her mentor skids ineffectually across the parking lot.

"Try that again and I'll dump it."

Moments pass as Haruha glares, until Maki taps her watch pointedly. Finally, the older girl relents. She plops down against her Vespa, head resting on pulled-up knees.

"_Fine._ Whaddaya want to know."

Maki can hardly believe her success, but she doesn't take long to celebrate. Time is ticking, on the ramen's warmth and Haruha's patience.

"What is this for?" Maki pulls out the white button she'd gotten at the encampment. Haruha answers apathetically.

"You have a channel in your brain that lets you interact with other frequencies, of, you know…" She makes revolving hand gestures, trying to communicate some important term that she has obviously forgotten. It's clear that Maki has no more idea of the missing word than she, so Haruha moves on.

"'Swhy you could hear us through your cat. The Brotherhood communicates on N.O. channels, which your more-evolved feline co-Earthlings _all_ have in their brains."

Maki resents this jab at her apparent un-evolved status, but Haruha continues talking.

"Aside from eavesdropping on official grownup radio broadcasts, your channel can also move _things. _Big things. The Brotherhood uses them for combat, sometimes…" Haruha trails off. Her attention is waning, so Maki tries to refresh her train of thought.

"So where do the buttons come in?"

"Oh. You can't just pull stuff out of your own head. That's what the button is for. When you pull it off, it's the same as if a different N.O. user is pulling."

Maki stares at the button, and tries to remember the people at encampment site and base.

"How come nobody else has one?"

"This operation is serious business, that's why. It isn't some BS brat-training mission. At least, it wasn't _supposed_ to be." She gives Maki an annoyed and superior look, but the younger girl shows no reaction, so Haruha continues with a sigh.

"So all the officers here are adults, and adult channels are useless for transport. Their heads aren't _stretchy _like when they were kids. All those hardened caverns in their skulls can still transmit echoes, but they can't make any more room." Haruha is beginning to eye the ramen cup again.

"Oh, yeah: the button pushes as much as pulls. Keeps things from popping out of your cranium uninvited. Apparently for some people that's quiiiteee an inconvenience." She grins at some private joke. Maki is skeptical.

"Nothing's ever come out of my head."

"That's 'cus no one's ever opened any portals in it."

Haruha's repeat implication that other N.O. users could be the ones to open portals makes Maki demand elaboration.

"How could they?"

"Besides the button? Like _this!"_

There's a swish and a crack, and a pain like Maki's never felt. She yells wordlessly on the asphalt, clutching her throbbing head.

"_WHY?_" she shrieks, absolutely convinced that she has a concussion.

Haruha grins, and waves Maki's guitar, which is still vibrating from impact.

"'Course, that's not gonna do anything, since they cut off my channel." Haruha flicks her own forehead, and through the pain and now-shifted bangs, Maki sees for the first time that there's a little black strip stuck on it, like a narrow Band-Aid. She also notes a hint of something more than annoyance in Haruha's crossed eyes – it's just a shadow, but the shadow of something extremely dark and terrible and _vengeful_.

Maki also makes an even more unpleasant realization: she is no longer in possession of the ramen.

Haruha opens the newly-won cup, and claims her still-steaming prize. With the noodles and broth, Maki's opportunity for answers disappears in a series of slurps.

* * *

><p>Whew! Lots of exposition in this chapter. Sorry about that. For those of you that are inexplicably interested, here's some additional stuff I thought might be overkill to include in the story:<p>

Maki's guitar is a Squier Affinity Telecaster. According to my limited research, it's a good guitar for beginners.

Electric guitars make good conductors of N.O. because of the way vibration travel through them. Like cat-brains, something about their build puts them on the N.O. frequency.

The strip on Haruko's (okay. I know I call her Haruha in the story, cus, that's her name, but I'm so used to her false one from the anime) head works kind of like Amaro's seaweed eyebrows to block N.O. She can't take it off, and without the use of N.O. portals, she can't get very far, which is how the GSPB is maintaining her probation.

Aannddd that's all I can think of. If you have any questions, feel free to ask through review or PM~


	3. Intimately Involved

Haruha crushes the empty container in her fist and tosses it onto the asphalt.

"Shouldn't litter," Maki offers listlessly, still overcome with her recent defeat.

Haruha is about to respond, but her bracelet starts blinking and beeping. Maki examines the band for the first time, noting a metal link hanging limply from the top. _Limply? How else would it hang? _The curious description that pops into Maki's head is brushed aside as she observes Haruha grumble and tap the glowing square. It emits more incomprehensible radio-static. Evidently the random noise has meaning to Haruha, because her eyes widen and her put-upon demeanor evaporates into something excited, but cautious. Anticipating. She's on her Vespa in a flash and starts the engine.

"Haruha? Where are you going?"

"_We _are going back to site. The thing cracked."

"What?"

"Hurry _up_!"

Without warning, Maki is yanked by her collar onto the bike and into another hideous maelstrom of a ride.

* * *

><p>The summer sky boils. Maki's and Haruha's arrival is accompanied by a great many dirt-clouds but little fanfare; all personnel on site are extremely preoccupied, running around nervously and barking codes into radio transmitters. Eyebrow Guy is near the crater with Blondie, the latter monitering mysterious readings on a kind of tablet device Maki's never seen before. Eyebrow Guy presses a finger to his ear-bud and looks up expectantly. His features shift when he sees Haruha and Maki, still perched on the bike yards away, and he motions them over.<p>

Up close to the crater, Maki gets her first real look at the meteor. It's half the size of the community swimming pool, reddish in color, and still smoking very slightly. It would very nearly seem inert, if not for the two cracks branching out across its surface, pulsing with yellowish light from some internal energy source. Blondie's concerned visage switches from her tablet to Haruha.

"We thought the crack from this morning was simple entry damage, but then this second one formed out of nowhere and he N.O. readouts jumped like crazy. We thought maybe the R.O.'d activated her channel and caused some residual ripples, but," -she looks at her tablet again- "it looks like they aren't even close to the same frequency..."

Haruha is still wearing her goggles, and the light turns them opaque, obscuring her eyes. She says nothing, and Maki feels a slight push – too subtle and fast for anyone else to notice – and finds herself tumbling into the crater.

She collides with the meteor head-first, but she's not too busy nursing the bruise to notice that the pain is coming from _inside _her head as well. It's just a kernel of heat and pressure at first, but it starts growing, more and more rapidly, and within a few seconds she can't even hear the shouting agent trying to drag her out of the pit. Everything turns white inside her eyes and the not-sound she doesn't-hear drowns out all noise and thought. She feels a pressure like her skull splitting open, and all of a sudden she's not in the crater anymore.

Maki Arikida is decked across the dirt, staring straight up at a sky that's gone from boiling blue to boiled pink. A hundred feet over her head, an incomprehensible monstrosity beats the air and shrieks.

* * *

><p>As Maki's brain readjusts inside her skull, the beast, while still very much a monstrosity, becomes somewhat more comprehensible. Though difficult to scale from a distance, the creature looks about twice as tall as Maki. Its wingspan is more than double that, the body itself rather stubby in comparison. The head – if it could be called that – is the worst part: a right angle of overlong and jagged 'teeth' jutting out from an amorphous, purple-gray body. The texture of the thing is amazing. It reminds Maki of the goo in a lava lamp, but more solid, like putty. Little blobs of it fly off and reattached themselves periodically as the monster flaps its wings.<p>

The only other feature on its form is a shape in its chest, an exposed…heart? Is it even an organ at all? Even from a hundred feet away, Maki can see that it's patched with metal, but it pulses, spasmodically and organically, like a mutant heartbeat. The sight of this otherworldly monster paralyzes Maki, and she can do no more than sit up at stare.

The rest of the encampment does not suffer Maki's paralysis. It's chaos: everyone is shouting, yelling, screaming, running around and trying to protect the equipment from the powerful gales that the winged creature is producing. Eyebrow Guy has commandeered the main radio transmission setup, shoving the designated operators out of the way in a state of panic that exceeds their own. He's yelling so hard into the mic – contacting base for reinforcements? - that his neck veins bulge. One of his seaweed eyebrows is falling off, and his sunglasses are missing.

And then there's Haruha. She stands, about ten feet away from Maki, perfectly still, hand on her hip as she stares up at the creature. She is unaffected by the calamity around her, save an undisguised smirk that Maki can only characterize as satisfaction. _Curiouser and curiouser._ But Maki has little time to ponder. The monster emits an ear-splitting shriek, folds its wings, and dives.

It takes Maki's addled mind long seconds to register the growing shape above her and the growing shadow across her to mean that the beast is heading straight for her.

But there's a force on her collar, yanking, and Maki is thrown a dozen feet. She's covered in dirt and bruised considerably, but quite unharmed compared to the alternative. The monster barely misses the ground where she'd been, fighting momentum and gravity to change its trajectory and return to the air, preparing to strike again.

Haruha is even farther away than before, as if she's been pushed back by something, as if _the beast had come between them _and Maki realizes that it was her reluctant mentor who had thrown her out of harms' way. Maki is stunned. She stares in disbelief at Haruha, but the older girl is extremely excited by something, gesturing frantically at Maki and at the Vespa, pulling her hair at Maki's lack of comprehension. She pantomimes a guitar solo, and Maki finally understands: for whatever reason, she needs to get to her guitar, which she left leaning on Haruha's bike.

Adrenaline and panic strip away all Maki's desire to question. She runs toward the Vespa as Space Police agents shoot at the airborne beast ineffectually, its plasmatic body absorbing the bullets. But when Maki reaches the guitar, she finds again that she's crippled by ignorance. _What do I even do with this thing? _Memories of Employee's monotone instruction and Haruha's sudden attack in the parking lot surface. _"Well, you hit things with it."_

Maki grips the handle.

* * *

><p><em>COMMERCIAL BREAK! <em>

* * *

><p>The encampment's chaos has entered its later, traumatic stages. Many of the agents have fled to base, and those remaining are trying to fight overwhelming hopelessness as much as they are the monster, with limited success in both battles. The screams are more desperate than ever. This is a mission gone absolutely to shit.<p>

But suddenly, Maki hears a collective gasp, and looks up to see Haruha take a flying leap from the radio tower. She plants, with unbelievable force, her foot in the back of the creature's head. There's a moment of stillness in the air – maybe inertia, or maybe time can't quite catch up to Haruha Raharu – and the beast shoots out of the sky, screeching violently all the while, its trajectory, once again, directly in Maki's path.

This time, she's ready.

By the force of a will she didn't know she had, Maki swings the guitar. Its base meets the monster's heart, and the two bodies crackle with electricity on contact. The sound of it burns in Maki's eardrums. The monster goes flying, no longer of its own volition, in the direction of the meteor. It lands a dozen feet shy of the crater, hard in the dirt, twitching with currents and utterly, utterly dead.

The dust clears, and the sounds of panic, muted by adrenaline in Maki's ears, fades to tentative silence and then, slowly, to applause. Eyebrow Guy and Blondie crawl out, carefully, from behind an overturned table. The sky returns to its bluish pallor and it feels to Maki as if the atmosphere sighs. Some agents begin righting tables, collecting equipment and trying to piece together a functioning radio, but most abandon duty to gather and gawk at their felled demon.

Maki joins them. Up close, she can see that the metal-patched heart also has a small, blinking red light on it, beginning to go out. The organ is attached to the body with wires seeped deeply into the beast's flesh. She can't tell if the wound is leaking oil or blood, and the combination of metal parts and gooey intestines visible through the hole offers no solution. Wings broken and eschew, it reminds Maki of a dead bird, but its buzzing, twitching throes are purely mechanical. _What _is_ this thing? _Maki wonders, unable even to categorize it as organic or not. Maybe it was both, or neither, some third category she is unequipped to fathom.

Maki feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns to see Eyebrow Guy, both seaweed patches and sunglasses restored. He jerks his head behind him, indicating the two return to the only standing tent. Maki follows.

Haruha is already in the tent, leaning against one of the poles. Blondie is there, too, on her hands and knees to gather scattered paper. When she hears the tent flaps open, she jumps up and salutes - a bit frantically, Maki thinks. Eyebrow Guy acknowledges her with a nod, and gestures for Maki to sit. It's a confusing instruction, given that no chairs are present, but Maki eventually settles for hopping up on a desk. Eyebrow Guy crosses his arms and tilts his head inward in something like concentration, and he's silent for a long enough moment that Maki wonders if she's in trouble. He speaks, quite suddenly.

"Do you still have the button?"

Maki blinks, and remembers the white disc. She nods, and draws it from her sweatpants' pocket.

"Good, now put it on."

"Right here-"

"Hurry up!"

Maki is stricken by this outburst, accompanied by an exaggerated twitch from one seaweed eyebrow, and tears off the cellophane without questioning further. She presses the disc to her forehead. It sticks, but aside from the plastic itself, she feels nothing.

"Leave that disc where it is. Don't touch it, don't make any sudden movements. Don't even breathe." Maki holds her breath obligingly. Eyebrow Guy removes his sunglasses and points a finger in her face.

"Agent class R.O.-U-21 Maki Arikida: you are now the channel host of the GSPB-classified galactic anomaly Red7."

The proclaimation hangs in the air until Maki can hold her breath no longer. She wheezes,

"What…does that…mean?"

Eyebrow Guy lets Blondie answer, her face and tone colored with worry.

"When your head hit Red7 – I'm sorry, that's the meteor; it's the seventh instance of this classification of spatial debris recorded by the Brotherhood. When your head it hit, your adolescent channel locked onto Red7's N.O. signal. Certain…alien manifestations now have access en route through your brain." She tilts her head apologetically.

"I'm afraid you're now intimately involved in this investigation."

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

It takes N.O. to beat N.O. See, the correct sound frequency can actually vibrate physical matter to pieces. Because the monster is constructed with N.O., the correct sound frequency to scatter its molecules is, well, the N.O. frequency. And, as we've established in the previous chapter's author's notes, electric guitars (as wielded by an N.O. user) produce exactly that frequency. So even though Haruha was strong enough to knock the monster around, Maki was the only one there with a weapon that could actually break or kill it.


	4. Punchline

By the time Maki emerges from the tent, the sky's gone pink again – this time, with the setting sun. Despite her alleged 'intimately involved' status in GSPB and Red7 mission, Blondie and Eyebrow Guy had managed to convey very little actual information about her new situation. For hours Blondie (okay, okay. Kitsurbami. Commander Eyebrows had said it enough for Maki to catch on to that one) had haltingly attempted to exposit on the mechanics of N.O. and what, exactly, had come out of Maki's head.

As far as the preteen could gather, there were a near-infinite number of 'channels,' not unlike radio channels, across which N.O. signals could run. Maki's collision with Red7 had dialed Maki into the unique channel of something called Atomsk (a name that made Haruha noticeably stiffen). The bird-monster was, quote, a 'prokareotic energy avianculous manifestation,' which Maki interpreted, as best she could, to mean that a little bit the energy from Atomsk had come through her channel and taken a monster's shape? Maybe? She was still far from clear on what Atomsk even _was, _or its connection to the rock she'd bumped her head on. The conversation had absolutely gone to shit when Blondi-Kitsurubami tried to get into the makeup of the monster – evidently it was a major source of distress for her and Eyebrow Guy that the thing had had mechanical parts. She'd said, flailing with paperwork while her boss's eyebrows danced across his face and slipped from sweat, at which point Maki quietly made her escape from the bureaucratic panic-attack and slipped out of the tent.

At the same time she realizes the sun's dipped so far that she can't see more than a foot in front of her, it occurs to Maki that she's been gone from home without speaking to Mayuri for the entire day.

She can still hear BlondesuruKitsurubami and Eyebrow Guy (to whom Kitsurublondibami only referred to as 'Commander,' a title Maki liked considerably less than 'Eyebrow Guy') spouting increasingly panicked, incomprehensible terminology, when Haruha quietly steps out of the tent. For a moment or two, they stand in silence, facing the sunset. Then, Maki says,

"Haruha, please take me home."

* * *

><p>This ride is less spasmodic than the previous two, perhaps because, Maki speculates, Haruha is too tired to be insane. She certainly hasn't spoken since her monosyllabic agreement to take Maki home, and the younger girl finds herself wondering, yet again, what exactly is going on in the head of this woman who now won't bother to even make eye contact. Maki squeezes Haruha's waist tighter, not because she fears falling, but for warmth. The summer wind suddenly seems so cold.<p>

Silently responding to Maki's directions, Haruha finally navigates to the Arikida's street, and stops in front of the house. Maki climbs off the scooter, awkwardly, new guitar still strapped to her back, and wonders just how she could possibly begin to explain to her older sister. Just as she gets off, Haruha speaks at last.

"I'm picking you up tomorrow at five am. Don't forget."

Maki shudders, imagining trying to process the bustling, obtusely technical meteor camp at such an early hour. She turns to the front walkway, intent on heading to bed immediately, when the porch light comes on and Mayuri Arikida opens the door.

It's like the beginning of a joke. A woman with two jobs stares at her little sister with a guitar and a sticker on her face, while a pink-haired woman sits frozen in the starting position on a yellow Vespa. The absurdity of the scene, coupled with a vague sense of being 'caught' for Haruha and a sharp sense of it for Maki, stills them where they stand (and sit). For minutes, the only sound is the Vespa's engine. An owl hoots, somewhere.

Mayuri manages, "Maki, who is this?"

Haruha, still staring straight ahead, responds,

"A cleaning lady."

* * *

><p>And so a woman, a girl, and a space alien are sitting around a kitchen table.<p>

Mayuri, in a champion effort to regain control of the absurd, has invited Haruha in for tea. Now the probationary officer is shoving cookies in her mouth in a manner that is, Maki thinks, far too comfortable for being in someone else's home.

"Is that even a thing, in Japan? Cookies with your tea?" Maki mumbles, heard by no one. Mayuri is too busy watching food travel from plate to Haruha's mouth. She says,

"So you're a…cleaning lady."

Haruha's mouth is full of tea and cookies, but she agrees without missing a beat. "'Myeah," she says, taking another gulp. There's not the slightest flicker of hesitation or guilt, and Maki begins to feel inklings of true suspicion about the nature of her mentor's character. _Consummate liar._

Maki is far less experienced in deception, but much more committed to a cohesive story.

"She's my new music instructor!" Maki says, with too much conviction. She's even stood up to lean forward more on the table. The dishes rattle, and Haruha almost spills her tea in surprise. Maki's heart palpates as she prepares to navigate this new kind of minefield.

But the movement has thrust her into the light of the overhead lamp.

"Maki, what's that on your forehead-"

"Fashion statement!" Subtle, Maki. Subtle.

"O…kay," Mayuri lets it go, remembering the more pressing matter at hand.

"So, wait, I thought you said you were a cleaning lady…" she says, looking back to Haruha, with more confusion than suspicion. Maki cuts in before Haruha can speak.

"Part time!" Still too forceful. Maki falters, tries to remember herself.

"She, uh, is travelling. Through town." Maki feels herself fall in step with the lie.

"She's a travelling musician who works part time as a cleaning lady, to support herself while she gets her music career off the ground. I heard her performing on the street and," conviction returns- "I was inspired!"

Mayuri is staring up at her sister, stunned, and even Haruha is leaning back, lips parted, eyebrows raised. Maki barrels onward.

"I want to learn to play. She agreed to take me on as a student." The narrative stills in tense air. Mayuri recovers first.

"That's…great, Maki. Really!" her confused hesitation begins to warm towards true enthusiasm.

"It's wonderful to see you interested in something for a change." The preposition – 'for a change' – is not one of derision but genuine concern – for, indeed, this is the most Mayuri's little sister has said in days. But new concern creases the older Arikida's brow.

"Just, I'm not sure how we're going to be able to pay-"

"It's fine." Haruha cuts in suddenly, but calmly. She's strumming on Maki's guitar – when did she take it? – as if it were her own.

"She agreed to help me with cleaning to cover the cost."

"I…did." Maki says. It's almost more question that affirmation, but she hasn't quite lost her footing yet.

"I, um, so I'm going to be busy and not around much, this summer break," Maki says, winding down.

"So that's…yeah, they do have that in Japan," Mayuri verifies, surreptitiously closing the Wikipedia page on her phone's internet browser. She's bemused, but nodding slowly. Her gaze turns to Haruha, who, Maki realizes with a flash of panic, hardly appears a reputable sort of character to which one would entrust the care of one's little sister. Mayuri looks Haurha up and down, and says at last,

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry, but, I've forgotten introductions." Against (what Maki considers) all logic, Mayuri smiles.

"Mayuri Arikida," she says.

"Haruko Haruhara," Haruha replies.

Maki twitches.

* * *

><p>See? I update! h a h a<p>

This was kind of hard to write. Cheesy lying scenes always make me cringe when I read them, but hopefully I could make it a little bit funny for you. Next chapter gets back to action, don't worry.


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